She shook her head.
“I am staying with my uncle. My name is Neville—Cecil Neville——” he stopped as if he expected or wished that she would tell him hers, but Doris remained silent.
“That’s my uncle’s horse, and I hope I haven’t lamed her!” he laughed.
“Oh, no! Poor thing!” said Doris, pityingly. “It wasn’t her fault!”
“No, it was all mine,” he said. “And I may not go home with you? Will you let me call and thank you—properly—to-morrow?”
She raised her eyes with a fleeting glance.
“It is not necessary,” she said.
His face fell. She lingered a moment, then she turned away.
“Good-afternoon.”
He glanced up at the sky.